


Black Undeath

by StormyDaze



Category: Machineries of Empire Series - Yoon Ha Lee
Genre: Crying, Cunnilingus, F/M, Knifeplay, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 22:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21465304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyDaze/pseuds/StormyDaze
Summary: Itnever ends, it won’t until Jedao cleanses the heptarchate with fire or lead.
Relationships: Garach Jedao Shkan/Khiaz
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8
Collections: Naughty List 2019





	Black Undeath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowersforgraves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/gifts).

Jedao closes his eyes and thinks about a bullet from his Patterner 52 finding its way between Khiaz’s eyes, a dribble of blood down her blank face. Or a raging inferno swallowing her in flames, her skin charring black. An airlock malfunction, blowing her out into space to freeze blue-white in seconds.

The whole heptarchate exploding in glittering fragments, shattering like glass. He hangs onto that. Afterwards, he can rest. Until then, he has a job to do.

He thinks about that, about anything but the cloying meaty taste of Khiaz’s cunt in his mouth, her salty juices pouring down his throat and over his chin making him want to gag. He hates that he knows just how to twist his tongue to make her buck against him with a soft little cry. The sooner he gets her off, the sooner this is over, right? Except it’s never over. She keeps coming back, a stolen moment in a private conference room, a late-night summons to her rooms like this. It _never ends, _it won’t until Jedao cleanses the heptarchate with fire or lead.

Her thighs clench tight around his head as she comes, cutting off his breath. His cock, hard and red since she brought out the knife and started slicing patterns into his chest, throbs in time with the pulse in his head as his lungs burn for want of air. He gets a chuckle of dark humor from the thought of dying like this, suffocated by his heptarch’s cunt. Hardly dignified, but it’s not like Jedao has any dignity left to lose.

Khiaz twines her fingers in Jedao’s hair and yanks his head back so she can look him in the eyes. A thrill runs down his spine and straight to his cock, leaking precome against his body. Traitor.

Khiaz cups Jedao’s face in her hand and swipes her thumb across his cheek. It comes away wet, a teardrop like a diamond glittering on it. She licks her thumb, tongue curling lasciviously around the digit.

He wasn’t aware he was crying. 

“My beautiful boy,” Khiaz breathes. “You’ve done so well, I think it’s time for your reward. On the bed, on your back.”

Jedao, of course, does as he’s told. Or rather, his body does, seemingly moving of its own accord. His mind feels like it’s floating in an ocean of agonizing sobs. He does feel the cuts on his chest twinge as he moves, the stiff tackiness of drying blood pulling against his skin. His uniform will cover them, but he’ll be able to feel them underneath his clothes until they heal. Khiaz has marked him like a child etching their name into a favorite toy.

Khiaz must be getting bored with this little game for tonight, because she slides herself down on his cock without any more of her usual teasing. Jedao screws his eyes closed tight but he can’t help letting out a moan as her hot wetness envelops him. More tears leak out his eyes and drip down his temples, puddling in his ears. Khiaz begins to move, bouncing herself up and down, breasts and hair swinging. The weight of her presence crushes Jedao more than the weight of her body. 

Jedao doesn’t last long; he never does, when Khiaz decides she’s done winding him up. She keeps moving as he softens inside her, her fingers dropping down to circle her clit until she comes as well, clenching tight around his oversensitive cock. The sensation makes him want to climb out of his skin, to scrub the filth of their association from inside his every cell.

Khiaz slides off him and lays down down beside him, tracing her fingers over the blood on his chest. “What do you say?” she prompts in a sing-song voice.

Jedao swallows around a dry throat. “Thank you, Shuos-zho,” he says. After everything, those three words are nothing. They shouldn’t hurt.

After everything, they still do.

“Good boy,” she says, smiling at him. “Now run along. You don’t want anyone to miss you, do you?” 

Khiaz does, though. The more people who know, the more fun it is for her.

Jedao thinks about a knife across her throat, spilling hot red blood over the sheets, as he dresses again and leaves.


End file.
